The War for Tamriel
by YoungDovah
Summary: A war of the Dragonborn. A war to end them all. The lineage of Tiber Septim is almost extinct, and some think it is time for them to step down. The rivals: the heir to the throne herself, Jadeus Mede; Grelda of the Darkblade Caravan, swordsmaster and strategist; and Dragonwing, a wood elf archer raised by the Forsworn. Rated M for strong language and content. Not for children.


Remiel of the Darkblade Caravan awoke with a slight headache. He looked around to discover that his hands... Paws? Were tied, and he was now riding a cart with three Nords. No wonder his ass was sore.

He was attractive, for a Khajiit; tall and muscular, but with more of a runner's build. He had a scar across one eyelid, but the eye beneath had, luckily, been unharmed. He had long black fur along his head, and dark grey else where. His chin sported fur that was a bit longer then the surrounding fur, as if it was a beard. His tail twitched, as if he were about to pounce on something.

He looked up as one of the Nords spoke. "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there.

The said thief scoffed. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If it hadn't been for you, I would have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now."

Remiel chuckled darkly. He'd been in similar positions before. He'd been carted off to jail before. He'd escaped every time.

He lost interest in their conversation, instead deciding to take a little nap. But then the cart stopped. He frowned, and opened one eye. Surprisingly, he saw a shorter man being pushed onto the cart. He definitely possessed a mustache, and the beginnings of a beard. His black hair was about the same length as his own; that is, shoulder length. But he could only have been 3 to 4 feet tall. But... The only dwarves remaining in the world were from Middle-Earth... So this stranger had seen his fair share of strange sights.

He sat up, greeting the dwarf with courtesy. "I am Remiel of the Darkblade Caravan, hailing from Elyswyr. And who are you, master dwarf?"

The young dwarf looked at him, as if studying his face. "I am Kili. My uncle was Thorin Oakensheild, king under the Mountain."

Remiel gave the best bow he could as the cart started moving again. "My condolences. I heard about the Battle of the Five Armies. But I never heard your name before."

"I was a babe then." He looked away. "My brother died there."

Remiel felt his thoughts being dragged away to his sister. If only he knew if she was safe or not... But she had been too young to travel alone with him. "My sympathies. I have a sister of my own."

Kili looked interested. "What was she like?"

"Well, first, I hope she's actually alive. But, she was a very ambitious little kit." He chuckled. "She once said one day she would be the Empress of Tamriel."

Kili laughed. "Very ambitious indeed. How old would she be now?"

"Oh, she'd be... She actually came of age last spring. Funny, I'd almost forgotten..." He sighed, looking up as they entered a town. "I wonder where she is now..."

"How did you separate?"

"Oh, I had a bit of a... Falling out with the caravan leader. It was over something stupid. But, in the end, I was banished from the caravan, never to see it again."

"But... Your sister?"

"She was free to join me, if she wanted to. I talked her out of it, though. I didn't want to be the cause of her death."

"Ah." Kili was silent for the remainder of the ride, which wasn't long. They stopped and got off as ordered, and Remiel felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. This wasn't time for a jail sentence. This was the time for executions... Oh, gods. He looked up at the sky, murmuring his mistress's name. Meridia, the daedric prince he owed his utmost allegiance to.

Kili frowned, turning to him. "You worship the Daedra?"

"They do more then the gods do. And my mistress hates the undead in any form." He smirked. "As a result, yes, I do."

"Hmmph." Kili looked around. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

"Maybe. And yet... I feel a change in the winds of fortune." He elbowed the dwarf, his smirk widening. "I think we'll be just fine."

 _Alrighty, everyone. Time for explaining some shit_

 _First off: how is Kili alive, and wtf is he doing in Skyrim? Well, this happens in an alternative universe, and, as he said himself, in this one he was a babe during the Battle of the Five Armies. So, as a result, here he is. Happy?_

 _Secondly: what is going to happen next? To answer this, well, there will be a lot more OCs and Lord of the Rings stuff involved, so be ready for those. But anything else, I can't spoil._

 _So, here ya go. I hope you're happy. Live long and prosper, bitches. This is Gmoney signing out._


End file.
